Goodnight, Goodnight
by soniagiris
Summary: Togami is always wearing long sleeves. Makoto notices.


See, Makoto Naegi may not be the most intelligent nor the sneakiest boy in the school. He isn't a great painter, grammar sometimes makes him feel like an ape of some not very wise kind, he can't speak, like, five languages fluently and six communicatively. He's no genius. But he can do one thing pretty nicely.  
He can see some things other people don't notice. Like the way Kirigiri tightens her lips when someone speaks about their parents, or longing looks Chihiro sends to any shop display with suits, or how Maizono sometimes exchanges her dinner for coffee with a sad smile, or—  
Well. You get the drill.  
And there's also another thing.  
His boyfriend always wearing long sleeves.

* * *

The way they got together, Makoto remembers it like it was yesterday, not half a year ago. He can play it in his mind, recite all the words, see Togami's curious eyes, smell his expensive cologne, hear faint sounds from the computer lab behind their backs. It basically went like this:  
NAEGI: Hey, Togami. Um. Can I ask you something?  
TOGAMI: If it's short and to the point, go on, before I change my mind.  
NAEGI: (shyly) Well. Um. Wouldn't be, um, nice, if we dated?  
TOGAMI: Hmph. I suppose it would be… indeed pleasant.  
NAEGI: Oh. Um. Well. Is that a— um, a yes?  
TOGAMI: Why wouldn't it be?  
NAEGI: Oh. Good! Good to know. Um. Do you want to go have a dinner, um, with me, of course, let's say, on Saturday?  
TOGAMI: Stop stammering and speak like you do have a single brain cell, Naegi. And yes, I will. Now, go with me. There's a book in library you ought to read provided you want to be something wiser than Oowada.  
And, yeah, that's it. The dinner was awesome, everything looked good, they started holding hands a week later, and after two more they kissed for the first time, and now, look. They had been the official couple of their year for about two months (until Asahina finally confessed her undying love to Kirigiri and was, to everyone's great bewilderment, accepted), and their classmates stopped getting shocked about this long time ago.  
It's awesome. Really, totally awesome. And Makoto starts to think they are in— n love. In true love. Like in fairy tales.

* * *

It's shortly after the peak of the summer, in the middle of August, when everyone gets lazy and calm, ice cream sells like it was free, and sun, a lil' bit sluggishly, shines bright like a diam— ahem.  
Makoto hums some popular American song while watching Asahina swim swiftly through the swimming pool's clear water. She emerges and laughs shortly before diving back. Kirigiri rolls her eyes and mutters, with a fond smile, something about showing off. Fukawa scribbles a few words in her notepad before taking a bite of her big-ass ice cone. Some guys from the class above talk animatedly about something, until the taller one pushes his friend (and Naegi thought his hair was messy — this guy's is even worse, and white!) into the water.  
"Wanna swim?" Makoto asks his partner, who is sitting besides him with crossed arms and a sulky face. "I see you are hot, don't think I'm blind, so just come with me, 'kay?" and smiles. It's Friday afternoon, there are no lessons, no homework, no chores, just relax and happiness, and lotta hope. In moments like those, he loves his life. And wishes he wasn't, seemingly, the only one.  
"Pass," Byakuya scowls. "And I'm not hot. You are blind. Shut up." And, with that nice accent, he turns on his ebook reader.  
"Okay," Naegi shrugs with fake nonchalance. "Not going to force you."  
He stands up and stretches, feeling his joints pop, before jumping into the blissfully cold water. But his wide smile fades after seeing Byakuya adjust his cuffs with annoyed look.  
That's when he starts to worry.

* * *

Things start to go slightly downhill a few weeks later, when Makoto comes back from the library to his room and sees Byakuya sit on their bed with pain in his eyes. Of course it disappears quickly, but Makoto knows what he saw and there ain't no lying to him.  
"Did something happen?" he asks carefully, putting his schoolbag down.  
"It's, no, it's nothing you anything, no…" Byakuya bites his lips before adding impassively, "I just got a phone call from Germany. My mother… died. In a car crash." He shakes his head and shrugs.  
"Oh god. I'm, I'm so sorry…" Makoto sits besides him and touches his arm. When there's no negative reaction, he slides hand down, until skin meets skin. "How do you feel?"  
"Emotions are useless," Byakuya replies quickly, mechanically. Then he relaxes a little, probably remembering where he is and who is he talking with, and says, with a hint of a sadness, " I can't say I am sad or, or, well, shocked, just… thoughtful. We— she and I, we were never particularly close, but still…" He doesn't finish, just sighs. "The funeral is in a few days…" He pauses, then adds quietly "Would you happen to like to go with me?"  
He goes.

* * *

It's not like Makoto weren't in other countries before. Once in his middle school there was a three days long trip to Seoul, and a few years ago his father got a huge raise, so he took his family to Bali.  
But this is his first time in Europe. And he can't quite say if he likes it or not.  
"It's way too different for me to decide," he explains to Byakuya, who just nods and says something in German to the taxi driver, Makoto understands just a few words, like "house" or "go" or "are". Well. It's still something, isn't it?  
They are not staying in the late woman's family manor, what comes as quite a surprise. No, Byakuya rented them an apartment in the city centre, with, like, three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a big as frick kitchen-slash-dining-room-slash-living-room space. They leave their luggage there and go sightseeing— well, Makoto goes, and Byakuya explains, whispers some useful words when Makoto tries to order them German street food and enough espresso to kill their jet lag, and scowls at the big queue in front of the television tower. It's nice and fun, and all, but still…  
Makoto can't stop worrying about the funeral tomorrow.

* * *

He was right. Of course. It's a sad day, and an even sadder evening, so, after all of the affairs, they go back to their place, simply lie down and sleep. (And, even if Byakuya wasn't at all interested in the, as he calls it, 'mating business', and Makoto was totally okay with that, they would be too tired to do anything).  
Byakuya falls asleep right away, curled up, and with his hand laying at his partner's back, but Makoto can't follow his way. He counts sheep, tries to auto-hypnotize himself ('go to sleep go to sleep fucking fall asleep jesus fucking christ'), but after what seems like an age (and is actually about an hour), he slides out from the king-sized bed, dresses up and quietly goes outside for a walk, preferring that to doing nothing useful. (Yeah, his boyfriend must have rubbed off on him).  
There is still a lot of open shops, bars, cafes and clubs; young teenagers sitting on the benches, drinking from colorful cans and bottles, smoking, or talking with each other in the rushed, sometimes slurred German, too fast for Makoto to understand. He pulls on his hood, aware that out here a small, visibly jet-lagged Asian kiddo like him is as flashy as an purple elephant with cheese in place of head, and goes to small grocery store. He picks some chocolate bars and an apple, and hands it to the cashier who's talking with her colleague in a rustling Slavic language. She cashes him out quickly and smiles in response to his careful 'vielen Danke', then says something in a kind tone. Makoto just nods with a grin and leaves. Goes back to the apartment.  
When he returns, Byakuya isn't asleep anymore; he looks at Makoto with something akin to anger mixed with worry.  
"Where have you been?" he asks, his voice calm. Makoto winces.  
"Sorry, didn't mean to make you upset. I just couldn't sleep and went for a walk," he answers sheepishly. "But, um, why are you awake?"  
Byakuya stays silent, just looks at him without any clear emotion. Makoto asks quietly, "Were you sad?"  
No answer. But his slender fingers start to fiddle with soft silk squeezing the thin wrist.  
Ah, fuck it. Makoto changes back into pyjamas and decides to go for it.  
"Hey, um, why do you always wear long sleeves?"  
And here goes nothing.  
He is fixed with a long look.  
"You sure are quite observant," Byakuya replies slowly, "but there are some questions not needing answer."  
"Why?"  
"Makoto." He reaches out for his hand and interlaces their fingers. "I… You have your suspicions, have you not?"  
Makoto nods. He does. But he's so, so afraid he's on point with them.  
"And... if you indeed think what I think you think... God, that sounded awful, didn't it?" When Makoto nods, he smiles faintly and continues, "Then you're... quite right." And, with that, he pulls up one sleeve.  
Makoto breathes out and briefly closes his eyes. Fuck.  
There are— scars, marring Byakuya's skin. Dozens of short lines, some thicker than the others, all straight and pale. Cuts. Oh god. At least they're old. He thinks. He hopes. Dear god. He feels tears pricking at his eyes. Oh god...  
"I'm— God, Byakuya," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."  
And then Byakuya fucking explodes.  
"This is why I never wanted to tell you that! This— this pity, this misery... No, Makoto, don't think it will make me feel better, don't you dare! It— it was my own fault, my own— stupidity, and you probably think someone, something caused this! No, it did not. Only my, my own inability to deal with— with..."  
He calms down just as quickly, but still won't look up back at him. Makoto wipes his eyes with back of his hand and whispers, "But it's really not your fault."  
Byakuya frowns at him, his ice-blue stare cold and calculating as he hisses out," Are you deaf?"  
"No." Makoto rubs his forehead with a sigh and says, "I just... Well. It really wasn't your fault, you know. God, how old were you when— when you won?"  
"Thirteen," Byakuya answers slowly, "But it doesn't mean anything."  
"When I was thirteen, Komaru stole my doll and fried it in the microwave. I was sad for, like, a week, you know," Makoto points out, "and you— you had a choice: die or cause your siblings' death. A really cruel choice, and to be made by a kid— God. And if I were you..." he shakes his head. " I would probably never move on. But you— you did. You chose and you lived. It— it was a terrible situation, and you— Well. It would scar everyone."  
"But it was me who took the, the razor and..." Byakuya looks down on his hands, forearms, and repeats, "Me."  
"Still!" Makoto raises his voice. "Still, I don't know, but this— this guilt, survivor's guilt, it's no wonder you'd— jesus, it's to be expected, it's called PTSD, and you probably never were treated, helped—" and he realizes there are tears trickling down his cheeks, wet and hot and angry.  
Byakuya raises his eyes, sees them, and— his expression, it's the raw, honest pain, unbridled and true.  
"I shouldn't told you that," he says quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."  
"'m not hurt," Makoto replies, blinking rapidly, "Just. God. Sad. Sad you had to go through all this— this shit."  
"Language," Byakuya says automatically. They stare at each other for a moment, then— then there's sudden laughter.  
"Like," Makoto finally manages out, "like you don't swear in German, you little— little dork."  
"Evidence is everything," Byakuya replies with a grin.  
"That's from Ace Attorney," Makoto notices, and, yeah, that causes more giggling, till they are both lying on the bed, breathless. Makoto finally sobers up and says quietly,  
"That things... You know, I won't think any less of you. Hell, now I'm just... glad you trusted me."  
"You're probably the one I trust the most," Byakuya says with a small, unsure smile, only a centimetres away from Makoto's own.  
"You know I love you, right?" Makoto pauses. "Shit. It slipped out. Wanted to tell you later."  
"Ich liebe dich gemas," Byakuya answers quietly.  
"Say that in Japanese, please?"  
"I fucking love you, Makoto Naegi."  
"Language."  
And then they're kissing; it's slow and heart-meant, and Makoto thinks, I love him so much.

* * *

It's nice, being back in Japan. Makoto breaths in, the air cold so high up there, on the top of the Tokyo Tower, and smiles.  
"Good to be home," he says to Byakuya who's leaning on railing. He nods.  
"Home is where your heart is, so, yes." He looks at thin, shining skyscrapers, busy streets of Harajuku and Roppongi, wooden roofs of temples, green points of sakura trees in parks. "Good to be home."


End file.
